


Voy

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: It’s a work party at the club.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	Voy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Camaraderie is important to humans. ‘Social get-togethers’ and ‘bonding moments’ are necessary for the smooth integration of an android into the ranks of the largely biological police force. That’s the main reason Connor gets out of the car outside Eden Club before Hank even has to tell him to. Hank looks at him, clearly surprised, then gets over it and nods to the door, grunting, “C’mon.”

They go together. They walk through the dim atmosphere and bright neon lights, past clear containers of scantily clad androids ready to be rented. It seems mildly strange to Connor that Hank’s eyes don’t stray over the half-naked bodies around him, sculpted to perfection: _meant_ to entice humans. Instead, Hank shuffles through and just seems a little lost. Connor’s the one that spots the sign and takes hold of Hank’s sleeve, lightly tugging Hank towards the door to a private room. They divert into a crowded space of familiar uniforms and gyrating bodies. The music’s turned up so loud that the laughter and hushed conversation is almost indistinguishable. Hank strolls around the edge of the rounded room to a seat at the back. 

The officer in the middle of the couch leaves, and Gavin Reed remains on the end. He spares them a grunt that Hank barely returns. Hank takes the far left seat, so Connor has no choice but to take the middle. 

He plops down between the two officers and surveys his surroundings. There are nine officers in the room and eight androids of varying models, styled slightly different, some still in their underwear and others already stripped down. A topless WR400 bends over to hand Hank a drink that he hurriedly takes. He doesn’t even spare it a second look. Connor files that away as more unusual behaviour. He knows of Hank’s aversion to androids, but even those against androids often indulge in them sexually. 

Reed calls over the music, “How’s the investigation, Lieutenant?”

“Like you give a shit,” Hank shoots back. 

“Jeez, was just dropping a friendly question. Can’t a guy put out an olive branch?”

Hank waves his arm, both of them carrying on as though Connor isn’t right there. “If you want one of my cases, just come out and say it.”

Reed rolls his eyes. He looks irritated, but he doesn’t return the insult, which tells Connor that Hank is likely correct—Reed wants something from him. Gesturing to the crowd of dancing bodies, Reed says, “Here, I’ll buy you a lap dance—no hard feelings.”

“Like hell you will—”

A tall HR400 has already answered Reed’s call, hurrying to his side. Reed directs it to Hank with a stab of his thumb and a chuckled, “You want one with a dick, right? Judging by the way you let this plastic prick follow you around like a lost puppy...” 

It’s the first time Connor’s been mentioned, but he doesn’t respond. There’s nothing he can say that will aid the situation. Instead, he watches, strangely detached, as the male Traci approaches Hank. Increasingly distressed, Hank waves his hands at it, trying to push it back, then orders, “You know what? Give it to him.” He jabs his thumb in Connor’s direction. The Traci obediently hikes one knee onto the couch and climbs into Connor’s lap. Connor sinks back into the couch while it settles in place, spreading its creamy thighs wide open and sliding close to Connor’s body. 

Connor opens his mouth to protest but swiftly thinks better of it. This was _Hank’s_ decision, and if it can help Hank for Connor to withstand the android’s interest instead, then it’s in his best interest to do so. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he lifts them to the android’s slender hips and braces himself to wait it out. The Traci starts rocking into him, its handsome, well toned body gracefully matching the pounding techno beat. Connor’s eyes sweep down its broad chest, its tight pecs and taut abs, and he feels nothing. The android’s attentions are wasted on him. 

He glances aside, wanting to discern from Hank how long he must endure. He expects to see Hank looking away, like he’s averted his gaze from every other Traci, except Hank’s not only looking, he’s _staring_.

His cheeks stain red and he hurriedly turns forward when he notices Connor watching him, but he was definitely watching Connor first. Connor does a quick sweep of Hank’s body—his pupils are slightly dilated. The flush in his cheeks can’t entirely be embarrassment. He’s holding his beer just a little too tightly, and there’s a slight indent in his trousers. He’s _enjoying_ it.

He doesn’t want a lap dance for himself, but he likes seeing Connor get one. The information is odd and irrational and Connor doesn’t know what to do with it. The android ducks in to brush warm lips across Connor’s mouth, and Connor makes the executive decision to allow that, because maybe that’s what Hank wants to see. Maybe Hank’s uninterested in Eden Club’s wares because they haven’t offered any _RK800_ models.

It feels vain to think that, even for an android. He distinctly remembers Hank saying his looks and voice were _goofy_. But Hank doesn’t seem to mind those looks when Connor’s sprawled out in a sex club, making out with another android. He opens his mouth and allows the android’s tongue to slip inside, sweeping around him as though he’s a human capable of leaving a tip. He begins to move his hands along the android’s hips, kneading the supple flesh there, drawing slow, smooth circles before he rubs the heel of his palm down the bottom of the android’s spine. He cups the android’s ass, still feeling _nothing_ for it, but his breath experiences a minor irregularity when he notices the bulge at Hank’s crotch growing. The android’s fingers slide back through Connor’s dark hair, and he tilts and opens wider to take the android even deeper inside. 

The android absolutely ruins Connor’s hair. Then it trails down to loosen his tie, and one by one, the android opens the buttons of his shirt. Connor only hesitates for a fraction of a second before allowing it to continue. He can _smell_ Hank’s arousal. Hank _wants_ to see him debauched. 

Connor allows the android to spread his shirt wide open, bearing the smooth muscles of his chest, equally as chiseled as the other android. A few flicks of the android’s talented fingers, and his nipples are even hardening. He hears Hank’s breath hitch. It’s strangely thrilling. Connor wants to ask Hank what he should do next: what will please his partner the most—if he should also be naked and writhing and riding another man’s lap—

The Traci’s hands reach his belt, and Connor detects a rapid spike of instability. He freezes up. He realizes that if they go any further, if he allows Hank to become anymore stimulated, _Connor_ will grow hard. He can’t allow that. He can’t afford to go rogue in a packed public room. He shouldn’t go rogue _at all_.

Reed growls, “What’s the matter, Barbie? Why’re you stopping?”

Ignoring him, Connor leans over to quietly ask Hank, “May we leave?”

Hank’s eyes are completely fogged over. He nods. He licks his lips and mutters, “Yeah. Let’s get outta here.” He possessively shoves the Traci off of Connor’s lap, grabs Connor’s wrist, and tugs him off without another word to the human grumbling behind them.


End file.
